


Something to Talk About

by thedevilchicken



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Captivity, F/M, Fights, Getting Together, Kassandra is Deimos (Assassin's Creed), Past Torture, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23884348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: When they got back to Sparta, they didn't talk about it.
Relationships: Kassandra/Stentor (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43
Collections: Minigame: Round 1





	Something to Talk About

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StopTalkingAtMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StopTalkingAtMe/gifts).



When they got back to Sparta, they didn't talk about it. 

They avoided each other. No one really noticed, because it wasn't like they'd been best friends before - just about the first time they'd met, they'd ended up wrestling like idiots. She'd known it was preposterous at the time, but he'd gotten under her skin, like her self-righteous brother but ten times worse because he had that fucking Spartan pride backing it up. She thought that Spartan pride was why they didn't talk about what happened, too. 

They'd sent him as a messenger, like polemarchs were fucking errand boys, and she'd made fun of him on and off for three days before he left because carrying a fucking scytale to a fort near Thebes wasn't glamorous work for a strong Spartan soldier. Then the ephors asked her to go with him, like _she_ was a fucking errand boy, except she knew she couldn't say no. He laughed. She slapped him. He spat on the ground; when he laughed again, his teeth were bloody. She liked that about him, at least. 

They argued on the road, between lengthy stretches of silence. They argued about where to make camp. They argued about _when_ to make camp. They argued about who'd cook and who'd take first watch and how far they had left to travel and why she'd been sent - she said she was meant to be his bodyguard, poor weak little soldier boy needed her protection, and he said it was so he could teach her Spartan manners. 

She slapped him again and said, "How do you like my manners now?"

He lunged at her, across the fucking fire, and how neither of them ended up alight she doesn't know. What she does know is their imbecilic arguing was what ended with their capture. 

She woke on the ground, in a cell, in some tumbledown fucking ruin. Stentor wasn't there. They'd taken her sword. And when she rattled the cage, three guards outside perked up; two of them nocked arrows, and one left them there to go take word she's woken up. 

She thought they'd come for her, at first. She thought it was her Kosmos past catching up with her, and they wanted something, like the names of all the places the Cult had hidden gold, or the places that they'd hidden artefacts they'd thought were more precious than it. Her sword was one of them, like her do-gooder brother's spear, and they had that now. She could've torn them limb from limb for that, she thought, but then they dragged Stentor to the cage. 

"If you move, we'll kill him," the leader said, as they opened the door to throw him in. And she almost said _go ahead, what do you think I care?_ except, when she looked at him, she realised she did. She cared more than she didn't, at least. Letting them kill him would've been letting them win. And then who would she spar with? Alexios was no fucking fun. 

She realised not too long after that they hadn't come for her. They'd come for the fucking scytale. The one Stentor had _dropped in the fire_. And she was angry at that that she couldn't see straight. 

They tried to torture her but it didn't go well; she'd killed a man by the time they'd shot her in the shoulder and set her staggering back into the cage. They didn't try again with her, but they definitely worked on Stentor, day on day.

At night, they talked about what they'd do to their captors when they finally broke free. They lay there on the stone floor they'd scattered with hay and sand to soak up the stray blood, talking about all the different ways they could break bones, and they weren't particularly quiet about it. She liked how he sounded when he was full up with vengeance, even when he was spluttering blood. When they dislocated his shoulder just to try to shut him up, she braced him and he nodded and she popped it back in. When they cut him, she bandaged the wounds with strips torn from their tunics. 

One night, as the rain dripped through the gaping roof and washed the blood away, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and said, "I'm going to die here." 

"I'll kill them all if you do," she replied. He nodded. He closed his eyes. When he smiled, it was tight but satisfied. He didn't let go of her wrist, not even in his sleep.

Later, after they'd freed themselves - the guards had turned lax and they'd taken their chance - they didn't speak of it again. Not for weeks, while Stentor healed. Not for a month, or maybe more. They ignored each other at the dining table. They didn't speak a word. It turned out the ephors had known someone would try to take the scytale and there'd been nothing of importance there; they'd been bait, and they'd done their job, but Kassandra remembered. Or Deimos did, at least. 

They didn't talk, and she realised she'd missed it since they'd come back to Sparta. So, one night, she slipped into his room. 

She pressed her hand to his still sore shoulder and he hissed in a breath. She pressed her hand to a mostly-healed wound and he bared his teeth. She pressed her hand down between his thighs and he glowered at her, like a warning. 

"Say something," she said. 

"I'm going to tear your fucking throat out," he replied. 

She laughed. "I'd like to see you try," she said. 

He tried. She bled, but not much, not as much as he had in that cage. And when she straddled his hips, he watched her as she pulled her tunic off; she tore his, ripped it from the neck down to the hem, then shoved his cock inside her. He grimaced. He gripped her hips and thrust up against her. It was like a fight, and also not. 

In the morning, she woke with his fingers wrapped around her wrist. She kissed his mouth then said, "I wish we'd never met." But when he shifted up on top of her, when he pushed his cock in and fucked her hard, she didn't tell him _stop_ \- she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled his hair, and that was that. 

They talked about it after - about the fucking scytale, not the sex. Turned out he'd requested her. Turned out she wasn't surprised. 

And then next time he left Sparta, she went with him without being asked. They argued, like she knew they always would, but things had changed. 

This time, they fought back to back instead of just fighting each other. This time, they were formidable.


End file.
